Endearing
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Hachioji forgot all about the chill seeping into his veins, and the ache in his overworked muscles, and the slip of the mud underfoot, and instead turned on his heel to follow Sekizan back onto the field without so much as a breath of hesitation anywhere in his body." Hachioji stays out late with Sekizan and finds himself more charmed than he expected.


It's the darkness that finally stops them.

Night has been falling for hours, drifting in to dim the pale grey of the sky overhead into the heavy black of a stormy night; Hachioji has known that on some level, has been vaguely aware of the hours sliding past even if he's let them go unmeasured while he keeps his focus on the rasp of his exhausted breathing, and the slam of his shoulder into the training dummy, and the skid of his cleats against the mud beneath him. He doesn't trust his footing enough in full dark to continue, was ready to retreat to the showers and head home with the slide of late afternoon into proper evening; but then the rugby ball had come out of nowhere, arcing through the air to slam hard against the hands he instinctively raised, and there was Sekizan, the rain plastering hair and shirt alike to the tan of his skin. His voice was steady, his smile slow; but the invitation of his presence was clear, unmistakeable even before he put words to the confirmation. Hachioji forgot all about the chill seeping into his veins, and the ache in his overworked muscles, and the slip of the mud underfoot, and instead turned on his heel to follow Sekizan back onto the field without so much as a breath of hesitation anywhere in his body.

Even then, they have to stop eventually. Hachioji doesn't know if he would, alone - he thinks he might be happy to stay on the rugby field with Sekizan until the glow of the dawn announces the start of a new day - but finally Sekizan catches the weight of the rugby ball between both hands, and tips his head back to squint into the weight of the rain, and says, "It's getting late," with a finality to the words that even Hachioji can't argue with.

He looks up instead, following the line of Sekizan's attention with a kind of helpless intensity. "Oh," he says, like he's only just noticed the day passing on into the late of evening, as if he did truly lose track of time over the span of his much-elongated practice. "I guess it is."

"You should get some rest," Sekizan says, ducking his head down and over the ball braced between the weight of his fingers. "You must be tired."

Hachioji doesn't feel tired. He thinks he'd be happy to spend hours more in the rain with Sekizan, letting the night slip past unobserved with the weight of the rugby ball curving itself into smoother and smoother arcs between their open hands; but he isn't sure he can say that aloud, isn't quite sure how Sekizan would take such an admission, even in the tone of a joke, so he huffs a laugh instead, and ducks his head to push a hand through the wet weight of his hair sticking to his forehead. "I wouldn't be much of a rugby player if I got worn out from tossing a ball back and forth a few times."

"That's not what I mean," Sekizan says, immediately, with that intensity that so drew Hachioji to him initially. Like this, with the night falling around them like it's being drawn by the raindrops spilling from the sky overhead, it feels like a spotlight, like Hachioji can feel the weight of the other's attention as a touch against the side of his face. It makes his skin prickle with something that has nothing at all to do with the cool of the air, makes his breathing catch in a way that has nothing to do with exertion. "You've been practicing by yourself for hours."

Hachioji blinks. "Oh," he says, feeling far more breathless than the brief interaction honestly merits. "Well. Yeah." He pauses for a moment to process the weight of Sekizan's statement. "You were watching me?"

Sekizan's head ducks down, his shoulders hunch. For a moment he looks far smaller than he is in truth, as if he's trying to occupy as little space as possible. It looks...Hachioji would almost say _cute_ , if he could reasonably apply that word to someone with shoulders as broad and as dense with muscle as Sekizan.

"A little," Sekizan says, aiming the words at the muddy toes of his shoes. His hair slides forward around his face; he lifts a hand to push the weight of it back over his neck, but it slips free as soon as he lets his hand return to its position clasping the rugby ball awkwardly before him. "I saw you out here by yourself."

Hachioji would be embarrassed by the thought: Sekizan standing alongside the fence, watching Hachioji go through the lonely practice he's taken up since it became clear he wasn't going to find anyone else willing to stay with him. But Sekizan is ducking his head farther forward until Hachioji can't see his face at all, his whole body tipping in like he's trying to vanish into himself, and it's categorically impossible to be self-conscious in oneself when facing such a clear case study in the emotion.

"Ah," Hachioji says. He takes a half-step closer, feeling vaguely like he ought to offer some kind of reassurance for Sekizan's evident discomfort, though he can't quite figure out what it is that has the other so shy. "That's fine." He shrugs and takes another step closer, lifting a hand in some vague thought to pat the other's shoulder as if he's a nervous child instead of a classmate with a good inch and probably several pounds on Hachioji himself. "The field isn't exactly private, anyone who wants could come by and watch if they want. I don't mind."

"It's just-" Sekizan starts, lifting his head in a rush; and Hachioji freezes, because he's _much_ closer than he realized he was, has stepped far nearer to the other than he intended. Sekizen looks smaller when he's looking down, with his shoulders tipped in; with his head up he's returned to his usual space-filling size, and that leaves Hachioji almost pressing against the span of his chest. Hachioji's breathing catches, his surprise too audible for him to even think of holding it back; and in front of him Sekizan's eyes go wide, his whole expression falling open into shock that completely wipes away the usual stoic reserve he carries with him. It makes him look younger than he usually does, something closer to his true age as a first year in high school; and in Hachioji's head that adjective surfaces again, rising to the front of his mind without any effort on his part.

They're both very still for a long moment. Hachioji still has his hand raised up over Sekizan's shoulder, where he had been intending to offer the weight of some kind of comforting pat; it seems absurd now, with Sekizan staring down at him from his full height, but he can't figure out how to pull his arm back in, can't figure out how to move at all. Sekizan's eyes are still wide, his gaze fixed full on Hachioji in front of him; the rain has soaked through his hair to stick it as flat to his scalp as if he just got out of a shower. Hachoji can see the wet trickling against the side of Sekizan's jaw and back to slide down the curve of his throat; it's an inordinately sensual thing to see, as if the rain is tracing out a suggestion for Hachioji's upraised hand to follow. Sekizan's shirt is pinned close to his shoulders by the wet; Hachioji can see the line of the other's undershirt in clear relief under the buttoned-up front of his uniform shirt, can see the shift of muscle under the clinging weight of the fabric. The wet leaves the cloth only barely opaque; if Hachioji looks he can see the outline of Sekizan's nipples chilled hard under the thin of his clothes, can almost make out the darker color surrounding them. His breathing is coming faster, his blood is going hot in his veins; and then:

"You have really pretty eyelashes," Sekizan says, and Hachioji's attention snaps back up to the other's face with guilty haste. His cheeks are heating with self-consciousness, with the awareness of having just been caught staring openly at the other boy's body in front of him; but Sekizan doesn't look angry, doesn't even look like he noticed Hachioji's attention. He's just watching the other's face, his gaze fixed into that intent focus again; and it's then that Hachioji backtracks over the few seconds of self-conscious guilt, and realizes what the other said.

"What?" he blurts, as a truly eloquent first reaction. Sekizan blinks, his lashes dipping over the dark of his eyes, and Hachioji can see his face darken, can see the other's shoulders start to tip in to hide away that brief moment of sincere attention once more. Hachioji's chest seizes, panic surging adrenaline through him, and: "That's not what I meant," he says, and his hand completes its motion to land against Sekizan's hair, to press his fingers in close against the rain-soaked weight of it. Sekizan's gaze jumps up again, his lips part on a huff of surprise; Hachioji can see the flicker as the other's eyes skims over his features, as Sekizan blinks at him like he's trying to make sense of Hachioji's intentions. He looks uncertain, flushed and self-conscious and a little bit nervous, maybe; and again in Hachioji's mind, that thought rises to the surface, too immediate and too accurate to be denied.

"God," he says, "You're so _cute_ " and he tightens his hold at the back of Sekizan's head, and rises up onto his tiptoes so he can lean in and press his mouth against the soft part of Sekizan's lips. Sekizan makes a startled noise against his mouth, a little bit a yelp and a little bit a whimper; but then, before Hachioji can collect himself to pull back, Sekizan is leaning in too, ducking his head to the pull of Hachioji's hand at the back of his neck and letting his mouth go soft and pliant to the press of the other's. He tastes sweet, a little like cherry candy against Hachioji's mouth, and his lips are wet with the rain, cool from the damp but warming fast to the contact. Hachioji lets his hand slide down farther to curl against the back of Sekizan's neck, just over the line of his soaked-through collar; and then he draws back, and takes a breath, and lets himself rock back over his heels.

Sekizan has his eyes shut, has his head ducked forward. His whole expression has gone slack, his lips are still parted like they're holding to the shape of Hachioji's; the thought makes Hachioji's breathing catch in his chest and tightens his fingers at Sekizan's collar. Sekizan's lashes flutter at the sound, like he's stirring awake in answer to Hachioji's inhale; when his gaze lifts it's darker even than the dim of the night around them can account for, and he only meets Hachioji's eyes for a moment before his attention drops back to the other's mouth.

"I like you," he says, all in a rush, like the words are toppling from his lips without his control. "Hachioji-kun." His gaze jumps up to Hachioji's stare for a moment, for a heartbeat of heat; and then he's ducking his head again, hiding his face behind the fall of his hair once more. "Will you go out with me?"

Hachioji is glad Sekizan isn't looking at him. It's easier to hold back the laugh that threatens his throat without an audience, easier to restrain the sound in his chest when he can bite his lip and wait until he's sure he can hold it back. He takes a deep breath through his nose, lets the weight of it fill his chest; and then he lets it go again, slow, before he speaks.

"Yes," he says, as carefully as he can, feeling a little bit like he's voicing wedding vows. Sekizan's head comes up, Sekizan's gaze fixes on him again; but Hachioji is ready, this time, offering a smile as he lifts his free hand up to fit against the dip of Sekizan's waist under the wet of his shirt. "Of course. I like you too."

It seems like a perfectly obvious thing to say, with his mouth still warm with the taste of cherries and his fingers pressing close against the wet of Sekizan's skin. But Sekizan's lashes dip, and his breath rushes out of him in a sigh of relief, and Hachioji feels that urge to laugh again, with something between amusement and affection and absolute, radiant joy running through the whole of his body at once.

"Come here," he says, and he's leaning in without waiting for Sekizan to respond, rocking forward onto his toes again as he tugs Sekizan down and back against the press of his lips. Sekizan surrenders immediately, letting his shoulders tip forward and down to meet Hachioji's mouth; after a moment Hachioji feels Sekizan's grip on the rugby ball between them shifting, feels him moving the weight of it to brace at his hip instead of between them. Hachioji presses in closer, lets his body fit in against the long line of Sekizan's in front of him; and at his hip, tentatively, there's a weight of fingers, of a hand lifting to light as carefully against his rain-soaked shirt as if he's made of glass. Hachioji's chest fills with warmth, his lips curve onto a smile; and he lets his fingers wind into Sekizan's hair, and tips his head to press closer into the kiss, and lets his attention melt into the careful shift of Sekizan's mouth against his.

It's a long time before they make it home that night, but Hachioji thinks the delay is more than worth it.


End file.
